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December 22, 1810
An hour after sunrise
Brook came awake on the floor with stiff muscles and an aching back, but his first thought was of Hope and what he’d done to her last night.
Good God, he’d touched her without her consent, put his hands and lips on her, all because he’d heard her crying in the night. What had started out as a need to comfort her had slipped into something that should never have happened, for he’d been halfway lost to sleep, and he owed her an apology.
Several, if he were honest. Perhaps it would have been better if he’d never put forth the bit of fiction they were a married couple.
Yet at some point during the night, he’d dreamed of his wife, much as he always did, and once more she’d beckoned to him, imploring him with her eyes to join her. Those were the nights that sent him into grief more than the others, when he missed her so much, couldn’t imagine going through the remainder of his life without her. Some would call those dreams nightmares, and perhaps sometimes they were, for he usually woke to the horror that she was truly gone.
Except this morning. His thoughts hadn’t lingered on Deborah. Instead, he’d had visions of Hope in his mind, knew he immediately needed to talk with her instead of linger in dreams of things that once were.
Trying to ignore the chill in the air, he rose from the makeshift pallet on the floor and wrapped his greatcoat about his body. As of yet, Hope was still abed with the covers tucked up around her chin while she lay curled on her side. She seemed so small and fragile—lost perhaps—that it only added to the hot guilt swirling inside his chest.
He moved to the window, and upon opening the drapes peered outside toward the wooded area. Several inches of snow had fallen overnight, which was unprecedented, for England didn’t usually see that much precipitation, especially this early in the season. And damn if the wind wasn’t still blowing. It kicked up some of the whiteness, swirled it about before depositing it deeper into the tree line. What the roads looked like, he couldn’t say, but likely were a mess.
When the bedclothes rustled and she uttered garbled words, Brook turned to face her. “What time is it?”
He glanced to the foot of the bed where he’d left his waistcoat, which still contained his pocket watch. “I cannot say for certain but surely an hour or so past dawn.” Again, he peered out the window. “No sun to speak of today. More clouds and snow while the wind continues to whip over the land.”
“Oh.” She didn’t sound pleased regarding the prospect. Then her round-eyed gaze found his. “How did you pass the night?”
“Terribly, I’m afraid.” At least it was honest. “Cold. And it wasn’t comfortable.”
“You shouldn’t have removed from the bed.”
“It was necessary after the way I behaved.” With a tight chest, he moved closer and finally perched on the very edge of the bed, far enough away that he wouldn’t be tempted to touched her. “I violated your trust.”
“You did not.” Her slight shrug sent the bedclothes slipping down her body. They paused at the slope of her breasts, and he held his breath. Would they fall further? “I could have bid you nay at any point, and regardless, no harm was done.”
Then why couldn’t he evict those memories from his mind? Even now, the remembered heat of her body against his brought both comfort and awareness. As best he could, Brook tamped the thoughts. “Are you feeling better than you were last night? I woke to the sound of your whimpering, assumed you were in distress.” Hadn’t it been logical to take her into his arms and offer support the best way he knew how?
“Perhaps a bit.” Her gaze dropped to the counterpane. The fact she wouldn’t look at him sent more censure hurtling through his chest. “At least it is morning. That which haunts us at night is never as acute in the daytime hours.”
God, I’m a bounder. He frowned. What demons did she struggle with? “Now that we are both awake, I’d like to offer my apologies to you. Again. I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop, Your Grace.” Hope raised her head. Nothing except honesty shone in those brown eyes. “Truly, there is nothing to apologize for.” She cocked her head to one side. “The night was chilly and a tad bit spooky. I was glad I wasn’t alone. However, if you are worried I’ll cry foul and demand you marry me, set those fears to rest. Those aren’t my intentions, and neither am I interested in that.”
“I appreciate your candor.” He nodded, and as a thread of relief twisted down his spine, he frowned. “Is it me, then, you take exception to or the wedded state itself?” Perhaps this was an opportunity to learn more about her.
A blush stained her cheeks, and in the morning gloom with the caramel strands glimmering in her brown hair, she was wholesomely beautiful, and he wished he knew how to paint portraits. “Trust me when I say my reticence isn’t with you.”
Unexpected pleasure curled through his chest. It was damned cold in the room except for when he thought about or looked at her. That in and of itself was troublesome. “You don’t wish to marry, then?”
“I suppose if someone were to ask, I would seriously consider the union, for I don’t wish to spend my life alone, even if that possibility has been thrust upon me.” A trace of sadness went through her eyes. “However, I have been shown that certain aspects of... me are unpalatable, which makes me invisible to marriage-minded men.”
How odd. “You speak of the scarring on your arm.” It wasn’t a question, and when his gaze moved to that limb, she hid it beneath the bedclothes.
“It is not just my arm.” Again, she looked away. “That scarring covers a portion of my side, belly, abdomen, and leg on the right side of my body.” The delicate tendons in her throat worked with a hard swallow. “My, uh, fiancé couldn’t apparently tolerate them, couldn’t see past them to who I was,” she admitted in a whispered voice.
“Then that man wasn’t honorable enough to be with you.” Surprise from the conviction in his voice lifted one of his eyebrows. Where had that outburst stemmed from? “Men who fail to see the worth of a woman in her full potential have lost my respect.”
A tiny smile curved her lips, and he well remembered the sounds of surprise and pleasure she’d made in the night. If he were to kiss her, what would those lips feel like? Such thinking was dangerous, and he really should quell any further urges. “Thank you. I appreciate the defense.”
“Every woman is beautiful in her own way, Hope. Don’t forget that.” He met her gaze, and once more, those brown pools invited him closer. “We are not what happened to us.”
When a trace of tears appeared in her eyes, his chest tightened, for he felt so ineffectual. “That is a good reminder, Your Grace.”
Possessed of possible madness, Brook relocated on her side of bed, close enough to take the hand she hadn’t hidden beneath the bedclothes. “My name is Brook.”
“I know, but I forget. Being in a duke’s company, those manners are ingrained.”
The need to hear her utter the word grew strong. “Say it.”
Confusion lined her expression. “Your name?”
“Yes.” Gently, he tightened his hold on her hand. The memory of how her breast had felt against his palm, the insistent stiffness of her nipple between his fingers had his imagination dancing and fire licking through his veins. What the devil was wrong with him?
“Brook.” She leaned toward him with her lips ever so slightly parted and the bedclothes sliding further down her chest. “I shall try to remember for next time.”
“Good.” For the space of a few heartbeats, they remained like that until reality set in. He immediately released her hand and scrambled to his feet. “We should probably dress.”
“Of course.” She glanced toward the privacy screen where her traveling outfit from the day before remaining hanging over the frame. “Do you want to attend to the necessary first?”
“Please, go ahead. I don’t mind waiting.” Out of deference to her privacy, he should have looked away when she exited the bed, but he didn’t, and the quick chance to see her in that shift when she wasn’t shrouded in darkness was every bit as wonderful as he thought it would be. Her peach-hued skin showed through the thin fabric and there was a glimpse of a nipple before she vanished behind the privacy screen. “Well, damn,” he said beneath his breath and then moved to the end of the bed.
“Is everything well, Your... er, Brook?”
The way she said his name, as if the word almost purred from her throat, sent a shiver of awareness down his spine. “Yes, of course. I am trying to acclimate to the chill while dressing.” So saying, he removed his greatcoat and then made quick work of donning his shirt. He tried not to think about anything while the rustle of fabric hinted at the fact that she was dressing.
Why, all of a sudden, after just over two years since losing his wife was he bedeviled by a woman he’d only just met?
Barely had he struggled into his waistcoat and manipulated the laces behind him as best he could than Hope moved out from behind the screen to stand at the washstand.
A snort escaped her. “The water in the basin is frozen.”
“I warned you it was cold.” He joined her in the small space and peered into the basin. Sure enough, the shallow depth of the water was completely solid. Hope had tidied her hair, and once more it was properly contained into an unassuming knot at the back of her head. “It was my original intention to have a light breakfast brought up to the room, but perhaps we should go down to the common room where the fire is burning.”
Interest lit her eyes. “Agreed, but I must tell you. I might require more food than what a light breakfast will provide.” As if to support her claim, her stomach growled.
They both laughed, and the sound dispelled the growing tension between them.
“I think that can be arranged, for I am rather hungry as well.” Again, he marveled over how different she was from Deborah. His wife had rarely tucked into a meal with gusto. Usually, she picked at her food, claiming to not have an appetite, but he secretly thought she didn’t wish to gain weight, for the ton’s eyes always scrutinized woman, especially a duchess.
“Good.” She stared up at him, and it was driven home to him how petite she was. Perhaps barely standing a couple inches over five feet. “Did you, ah, wish to have assistance with your jacket?”
“That would be helpful. Yes.” As if she would burn him, he darted out of the area in order to retrieve his jacket. “These garments are tailored so tightly a man can hardly don them without making a fool of himself.”
“It seems the more expensive the cut, the more difficult the clothing.” She tugged the jacket from his fingers. “Turnabout, please.”
As he did so and she held up the garment, the muscles in his belly contracted. Deborah used to help him sometimes with his jackets. He’d rather missed the little intimacy of the act. The second he slipped his arms into the sleeves, and Hope spread her hands across his back to smooth out the fit, awareness of her shivered down his spine.
“Again, I apologize for my trespass last night.” It was important that she understood it wasn’t his habit to accost every woman he came across.
“Brook, please.” She released a huff of frustration while facing him. “Stop. I needed the comfort; you apparently needed to have a woman close by. There was no harm in the situation.” There was a longing in her eyes and a sadness he suddenly wished to investigate. “I wasn’t offended, and quite frankly, I enjoyed the companionship.”
“I...” Learning to interact with this slip of a young woman was leaving him tongue-tied and confused, to say nothing of feeling things he hadn’t let himself experience for far too long. While she manipulated the buttons of the jacket, a tremble of need went up his spine. “I... forgot myself, thought for a few minutes my wife wasn’t dead... that I might have imagined that whole horrible day when she left.”
It was the closest he’d ever come to talking about that day with anyone. And perhaps he might like to continue if she was willing.
“Oh, Brook.” Compassion flitted through in her expression. Understanding clouded her eyes as she once more met his gaze. “I am sorry. I cannot imagine losing a spouse.” Her fingers lingered a few seconds too long on his buttons. That warmth only heightened his errant hunger. There had been something about the mystery of the dark that had made it seem as if anything was possible, which was what had prodded him to kiss and caress his faux wife.
If given the opportunity again, would he do the same? Honestly, he didn’t know.
“It was a terrible time in my life I hope to never repeat.” With cold regret pooling in his belly, he stepped away and put much needed distance between them on the pretense of donning his boots.
“Loss is terrible, and grief is even more poignant at this time of year, when families gather.” Hope rooted around on the floor until she found her half-boots. Gingerly, she perched on the edge of the straight-backed chair. “This year will be odd without the traditions I have grown accustomed to.”
Suddenly, he wished to know much more about her and the life she’d led before all the hurts and disappointments had made an indelible impression. “I quite agree. When the people we love are taken from us unexpectedly, they leave a void behind, and though we might crave their presence again, the reality is very different.”
He sat heavily on the bed and tugged the first boot onto his left foot while he battled to keep his emotions at bay. He’d thought they’d been under control, but that scab had been ripped open with the advent of this one young woman who wasn’t afraid to show her own vulnerability.
“There is one bright spot the storm has brought, though.” If the cheerfulness in her voice sounded forced, he didn’t comment upon it.
“Oh?” Brook shoved his right foot into the remaining boot.
Hope came into his line of sight, and he silently cursed that the drab garment she wore hid the best aspects of her figure. “We are together. Not just you and I, but the rest of the travelers stranded in this inn. No doubt they are suffering from the same bouts of loneliness and ennui we are. Perhaps for different reasons, but they are away from their plans and their families all the same.”
“I hadn’t thought of it in that way before. Thank you for that.” It wasn’t the first time she’d opened his eyes to see something in a different perspective. The knowledge that he still had much to learn left him both humbled and excited. “Are you ready for breakfast? I believe I am going to order a pot of tea and tell the innkeeper to keep them coming.” Truly, he was chilled to the bone.
“I am.”
“Good.” He allowed himself a small grin as he brought her to the door. Once out in the dimly lit corridor, he offered her his arm bent at the elbow. “Here is hoping we pass a pleasant morning, Mrs. Gerard.”
“Indeed, Mr. Gerard.” Another blush sank into her cheeks.
It was rather lovely seeing how quickly she went to sixes and sevens. Instead of dreading the remainder of the trip to Yorkshire playing as her escort until they reached his aunt’s home, he looked forward to it. Would he linger there in an effort to see her settled? And if he did, would that draw the attention of his aunt’s blistering tongue? That remained to be seen, but he rather thought it might be worth having a few more days in Hope’s company. “Do you wish for a private dining room this morning?” That was, if he could secure one.
“No, thank you. It might be fun to observe our fellow travelers in the daylight.”
By the time they were settled at a table near the fire and had ordered their repast, his maudlin spirits had fled. There was something about Hope that made him feel almost cheerful, dare he say hopeful despite the years of grief he’d previously labored under.
She turned her bright gaze to him and looked for all the world as if she knew a secret but hadn’t yet shared it. “What have you planned for today? I really don't feel like doing handiwork and the wind makes it difficult to concentrate on reading.”
The fact she deferred to him—included him—in whatever they did tightened his chest with unexpected gratitude. “We could stroll through the common room.”
“That would only occupy twenty minutes. I’d rather not have the day stretch out endlessly.”
“Whatever happened to wishing to bond with your fellow stranded travelers?” It was easy to tease her, and when she laughed, he wanted to hear much more of that tinkling sound.
“Just now, there are nothing except questionable personages in the room.”
A quick glance had him concurring. Mostly men, some more unkempt than others, occupied a few of the tables as they talked—or rather complained—about whatever misery was popular at the moment. “But they are undoubtedly lonely, Hope. I’m sure you could entertain them if you put your mind to it.”
“Do hush, Denton,” she said softly while she eyed him askance. “That is cruel and unusual punishment.”
A laugh escaped him before he could recall it. God, how long had it been since he’d found anything amusing? His spirits lifted further. “I could read to you. Didn’t you say you had brought books with you?”
“Perhaps later.” She sighed and once more looked through the common area. “What else is there to do?”
“Hmm.” When she landed her gaze back on him, Brook waggled his eyebrows. “I could teach you how to play faro or whist. Promise to keep that knowledge to yourself. If my aunt were to find out that I’d corrupted you, we’ll both land in the kettle for certain.”
The boredom in her expression immediately cleared. “That is quite an acceptable way to pass the time.”
“Good. What would you have eventually done if I hadn’t suggested that?”
She shrugged. “Most likely I would have brought my notebook and pencil down from the room.” Another blush filled her cheeks. “When I am bored or need to occupy my mind, I have recently begun to write fictional stories about the people I meet in my daily life. That has then given me the confidence to pen other sorts of stories that have nothing to do with real people.” Embarrassment crossed her face. “I rather enjoy the challenge of it.”
“You are a writer.” By Jove, that was the best thing he’d heard all month. “How lovely. I have often wondered how an author puts together a good yarn.”
“I haven’t had anything published, so I don’t know how proficient I am at the craft. It’s merely scribbling yet, but I find studying human nature fascinating.”
“No one is a master right out of the gate, Mrs. Gerard.” Again, he waggled his eyebrows, and when she gave him a genuine smile, he returned the gesture.
This could be trouble... if he let it, and that would largely depend on how much willpower he exerted.
Damn it.
